Chapter 2 - The Name Vincent Never Forgot
Karina laughed.
It wasn't amusement.
It was the involuntary sound a person made when reality became too ridiculous to accept.
“My father?”
Nobody answered.
Around them, applause gradually faded as the guests sensed something had changed.
Gregori lowered his baton.
Vincent retrieved his jacket.
“Come with me.”
Karina folded her arms.
“No.”
The room became very quiet again.
Vincent looked at her.
“Excuse me?”
“I've spent two years serving drinks here. You've never learned my name. Now suddenly you know my father and I'm supposed to follow you somewhere?”
Levi almost smiled.
Vincent did not.
“Office. Five minutes.”
“I have tables.”
“I own the tables.”
Karina's eyes narrowed.
Vincent corrected himself.
“Please.”
That single word surprised everyone.
Especially Levi.
Karina looked toward June.
June mouthed, Go.
Five minutes later, Karina entered Vincent's upstairs office.
Vincent closed the door.
Levi remained near the window.
Karina stayed standing.
“Start talking.”
Vincent poured water into a glass.
He offered it.
Karina didn't take it.
Vincent drank it himself.
“Your father worked for my family.”
“No.”
“He did.”
“He taught dance.”
“He did that too.”
Karina shook her head.
“My father hated criminals.”
Vincent's mouth tightened.
“He had good reasons.”
Levi stepped forward.
“Anton wasn't part of the organization. He worked security at one of the Graham hotels during the day. Dance instructor at night.”
Karina remembered.
Her father had always described his old job simply as hotel security.
Nothing more.
Vincent continued.
“I was nineteen.”
He looked toward the window.
“My father had enemies. One evening someone decided the easiest way to hurt him was through me.”
Karina said nothing.
“Anton saw something wrong before anyone else did. He got me out.”
“How?”
Vincent looked back.
“That isn't important.”
“It is to me.”
“He risked his life.”
Karina swallowed.
“That sounds like him.”
Vincent walked toward a cabinet.
He unlocked it.
Inside were old files.
He removed a thin envelope.
The paper was yellowing.
He placed it on the desk.
ANTON YODA.
Karina stared at her father's name.
“Why do you have this?”
“Because I tried finding him.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
Her anger returned.
“You couldn't find him? We lived twelve blocks from here.”
Vincent absorbed the accusation.
“My father made sure Anton disappeared from our world.”
“Why?”
“Because Anton discovered something.”
Karina looked at Levi.
“What?”
Neither man answered immediately.
Vincent opened the envelope.
A photograph slipped onto the desk.
Karina picked it up.
Her father.
Younger.
Standing beside another man.
Vincent's father.
And behind them—
Karina's breath stopped.
Her mother.
Elena.
“What is this?”
Vincent watched her.
“That's what I hoped you could tell me.”
“My mother knew your family?”
“Apparently.”
Karina stared at the photograph.
Her mother had died when Karina was twelve.
Cancer.
Karina remembered hospital rooms, perfume, whispered conversations she had never understood.
She turned the photograph over.
Writing appeared on the back.
Three words.
Protect the ledger.
Karina looked up.
“What ledger?”
Levi and Vincent exchanged another glance.
Then Karina remembered the book she had seen on Vincent's table downstairs.
“No.”
Vincent shook his head.
“Different ledger.”
“What does that mean?”
“The one downstairs contains current accounts.”
Levi spoke carefully.
“The ledger mentioned in that photograph disappeared twenty years ago.”
“And?”
Vincent's expression hardened.
“It contained records powerful people would have done almost anything to destroy.”
Karina felt suddenly cold.
“What does this have to do with my father?”
“We believed Anton took it.”
“My father wasn't a thief.”
“I didn't say he stole it.”
Vincent leaned against the desk.
“I think he protected it.”
“From whom?”
“My father.”
The answer surprised her.
Vincent continued.
“My father wasn't a good man, Karina.”
“You're telling me the mafia boss wasn't nice?”
Levi coughed to hide a laugh.
Vincent ignored him.
“He built an empire through fear. Anton learned that some of the people around my father were using his organization for things even he hadn't authorized.”
“What things?”
“Bribery. Fraud. Extortion.”
Karina looked at the photograph again.
“My father never told me.”
“He was protecting you.”
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
Her voice cracked.
“Protecting me from what?”
Vincent had no answer.
Karina hated him for that.
She grabbed the photograph.
“I'm keeping this.”
Vincent nodded.
“Fine.”
“And I want the file.”
“No.”
“It's my father.”
“It also contains Graham family records.”
“I don't care.”
“I do.”
Karina stepped closer.
“You knew my father was involved in your world, and you let me work downstairs for two years without saying anything.”
“I didn't know who you were.”
“You should know who works for you.”
That landed.
Vincent glanced away.
Karina turned toward the door.
“Karina.”
She stopped.
“Why did you stop dancing?”
Her shoulders stiffened.
“That isn't your business.”
“You were trained.”
She turned.
“My father got sick.”
Vincent's expression changed.
“Medical bills?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
Karina laughed bitterly.
“Don't.”
“I can—”
“No.”
“I didn't finish.”
“You were going to offer money.”
“I was going to offer help.”
“From where I'm standing, those look identical.”
She opened the door.
Vincent spoke behind her.
“Your father once told me something.”
Karina froze.
“He said people who mistake control for strength eventually discover they have neither.”
Karina slowly looked back.
Vincent gave a faint smile.
“You said almost the same thing downstairs.”
Her anger softened for one second.
“My father liked lectures.”
“He was good at them.”
Karina left.
That night she returned to her small apartment after two in the morning.
She couldn't sleep.
She placed the photograph on the kitchen table.
Her parents looked young.
Happy.
Different.
Protect the ledger.
Karina searched through the closet.
Her father's belongings occupied three cardboard boxes she had never had the courage to sort.
Tonight she opened them.
Photographs.
Old receipts.
Dance programs.
A broken watch.
Then she found his dance shoes.
Karina held them against her chest.
For several minutes she cried.
When she finally put them down, something fell from inside the left shoe.
A brass key.
Karina stared.
A number was engraved into it.
317.
She searched the box again.
At the bottom was an envelope addressed in her father's handwriting.
KARINA.
Her hands trembled.
Inside was one sheet.
Kari,
If you're reading this, then someone has finally spoken the Graham name to you.
Karina stopped breathing.
She continued.
I hoped you would never need to know.
There are truths that protect people only while they remain buried. But if Vincent Graham ever learns who you are, ask him one question.
Karina's heart hammered.
The final line read:
Ask Vincent why his father ordered your mother killed.
Karina dropped the letter.
Across town, Vincent Graham stood alone in his office staring at an old photograph.
Levi entered.
“You remember more than you told her.”
Vincent didn't deny it.
“How much?”
Vincent looked toward him.
“Everything.”
Levi's face darkened.
“Then God help us when she finds out.”
Vincent returned his gaze to Elena Yoda's photograph.
“She will.”
He closed his eyes.
May you like
“Because Anton left her the key.”
---
